


Drabbles Through Time

by mneiai



Series: mneiai's ASOIAF drabbles [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Book: Fire and Blood, Book: The World of Ice and Fire, Canon Typical Incest, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Gen, Jon Snow is Called Aemon, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, M/M, Multi, Possessive Behavior, The Tales of Dunk and Egg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 10:44:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20406439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: Drabbles of Jon Snow traveling to different time periods in Planetos' history and facing his often-possessive relatives.





	1. Aegon I and Torrhen

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is [Chapter 40 of Drabbles II](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19904575/chapters/48214147) but it's what kicked this series of drabbles off so I wanted to keep it together.

Jon looked back and forth between the people arranged around him. When he'd barreled through the strange glowing doorway in the crypts all he'd hope to do was get away from the wights. He definitely wasn't expecting to end up somewhere very different--the Riverlands, he thought, from the descriptions of it.

There were dragons arranged nearby, but he didn't recognize them. And Northern lords, none of whom he recognized, either.

Though that wasn't to say there wasn't anything familiar about some of the people. One of the men wore black armor with the Targaryen sigil and clearly Valyrian features. Another had hair and eyes the color of Jon's own and the Stark sigil on his breastplate.

He felt Ghost carefully shift closer to him, ready for any sort of attack. These men might look confused now, but that didn't mean they wouldn't turn hostile in a moment.

"Who are you?" the Targaryen demanded, staring at Jon's chest.

Jon didn't need to glance down to know why--he was wearing the doublet that Sansa had made for him, a single red dragon head in the style of the Stark direwolf, wearing a crown of winter roses. When he glanced at him, the Stark man was also staring.

A Targaryen and a Stark, in an age with dragons, in the Riverlands with two armies at their backs that weren't fighting. Jon had a sinking feeling about exactly where--when--he might be.

"...No one of note. I'm sorry to intrude, I'll be on my way."

"You're a Northman," the Stark--Torrhen, it had to be, hazarded.

"...Aye, I was raised in the North."

"But you aren't Northern." Aegon was studying his features, those Valyrian features that could be traced back to he and Rhaenys.

He shifted uncomfortably. If he could change history, surely he wouldn't have been able to go back? Neither of these men were fools, they'd seen he and Ghost appear out of thin air.

"My father was Southron," he admitted, eyes flicking between the two Kings.

"What is your name?"

Jon licked his lips, now, knowing he had made his choice but still disliking it. "...Aemon of Houses Stark and Targaryen."

Murmurs erupted around them. Was that man next to Torrhen Brandon Snow? Was the one a little behind Aegon Orys Baratheon? Sam would be so envious of Jon, if Jon ever made it back to tell him.

Torrhen stepped forward first, blasé enough about Ghost that Jon figured he must have met direwolves before, offering his hand to Jon. "I know magic when I see it and whatever brought you here was that. It can't be a coincidence it was at this exact point, when Stark and Targaryen first met."

Taking his hand, Jon was relieved at least someone was on his side. "It must be purposeful, somehow. I was in the crypts at Winterfell right before this."

"...There's many stories about what resides there, we'll have to take you back to see if we can recreate what happened," the one who must be Brandon Snow muttered, coming up beside Torrhen. "Well-met...cousin?"

"Some-greats nephew, I suppose?" Jon offered, with a wry smile.

"But a Targaryen, surely," Aegon stepped closer, giving a haughty look to the others, but keeping Jon between he and Ghost. "And it's hardly fitting for a prince to be left in such a state. I'll have a tent prepared to you near my own, grandson."

He'd caught on quickly enough. Jon glanced between his two ancestors, noticing the barely contained annoyance on their faces. If he fucked up Torrhen becoming the King-Who-Knelt, what would that mean for his future?

"Uh, yes. My father was a Targaryen, my mother a Stark--the only sister of the current Lord of Winterfell."

"Lord?" Torrhen muttered, shooting a glance over at Balerion, then back at Aegon.

Aegon nodded as if that somehow made sense to him. "And I suppose your mother wished for you to know her people, which was why you were raised among them."

Well, Jon supposed that was one way someone could put it.

"I suppose it's inevitable that I bend the knee," Torrhen pushed Brandon to the side, as only a true brother would, and stepped up to Aegon. "Then we can take Aemon back to Winterfell to solve this issue of his."

"I will gladly accept your fealty," Aegon replied, graciously, "but I think it best if Aemon rest, first, and then I can fly him directly to Winterfell after you've returned home."

Oh no. Jon knew what was happening, but he'd never thought it would happen with any Stark and Targaryen.

"You're both very busy and it's not so difficult to find our way to Winterfell. Ghost and I can make it on our own, if perhaps you might lend me a horse, King Torrhen?"

They both protested viciously after that. Jon and Ghost leaned against each other, Ghost giving Jon an accusing stare as though he could have somehow predicted what would happen.

In the end, nothing was really decided. Since Torrhen had to bend the knee, he reluctantly also had to allow his new king to take Jon back to his camp, but who he would actually stay and travel with was left until the next morning.

Jon would normally think Torrhen was underestimating how possessive Targaryens could be, but then again no matter what happened Jon would need to be taken to Winterfell and be in Torrhen's domain.

It was exactly the sort of thing his families back in his time would pull and left Jon aching with homesickness after just a few hours. If he never could return to his own time, he didn't know what he'd do.


	2. Daemon II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daemon II's dragon dreams always come true and he dreamt of a dragon from the future blessing him with a visit on the eve of his rebellion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daemon II is the third son of Daemon I Blackfyre. He's a main character in The Mystery Knight and has the hots for Dunk, who is, of course, too dense to realize that even when another character makes it _very obvious_. Jon is not quite as dense.

"I saw this in a dream," a voice broke over him, forcing Jon out of his daze.

He'd fallen through one door and out another, somewhere else (somewhen else) entirely. It was getting to be a depressingly familiar experience. All the peace he'd hoped for after ending the Long Night amounted to nothing.

There was just one person in the room with him, a man with dark hair and familiar eyes. Well-dressed, though in a fashion unfamiliar to Jon. Again, that was nothing new--he wished he'd paid more attention to Sansa's meanderings about clothing, sometimes, if only to try to pinpoint the time period through that means.

"A dream, you say, my lord?"

The man smiled, it was a disarming look. "Oh, yes, I saw a dragon of white and red flying through the ages of men and you, on its back. It fell through the clouds and landed in a castle of white, where two dragons already resided."

"And where might I be now, my lord?"

At least this person seemed willing enough to talk, though Jon couldn't figure out who he might be. So far, he'd always encountered Starks or Targaryens, or both at once. But this man didn't wear a dragon, three headed or otherwise, and there were only a handful of dark haired Targaryens he could think of from his lessons.

"Whitewalls."

That was familiar. There was something about that he thought he knew, perhaps in a song he'd heard in his youth or a story from Old Nan. 

"Is some great event happening here, my lord? That is normally what I appear for."

The man smirked. "Simply a tourney, to celebrate a wedding. Though, there's quite a prize to be had."

Purple eyes. Dragons. A tourney at Whitewalls.

_Fuck_.

The visits weren't in order, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to them. And this was his very first time meeting a Blackfyre.

"I should let you return to the festivities, my lord."

"Nonsense, it would be rude for me to leave a traveler alone after he's made such a harrowing journey. Please, at least partake of some food."

Food. Guest rights. That was still a thing between there families, wasn't it? Bloodraven doesn't break that for years, yet. 

"...If it pleases you, my lord."

Daemon laughed, clapping a hand on Jon's shoulder and gesturing towards a table set for two. If it was any other situation, and maybe not someone's dragon dreams telling him of Jon's visit, it might have seemed romantic.

"There are many things that please me, of course. An evening with such an intriguing man would surely be one of them!"

"Dreams are most likely better at telling of my exploits than I would be."

"Nonsense, I doubt that is true. You are a dragon come from the future! A prince of the blood! Why would I not wish to know all of my victory and how my descendants rule?"

It probably shouldn't have surprised him, but it did. Even someone who saw the future often misinterpreted their visions to favor themselves, he'd seen that often enough. Daemon thought he'd succeed here. He thought he'd usurp Aerys, that he'd become king.

Too bad none of his dragon dreams had warned him about dying in captivity.

Jon ate the food without much thought, knowing better than to deny himself some when he didn't know what would happen next. Sometimes his travels took hours, sometimes days. He thought he was slowly edging closer to his own time, though, and this was the latest of them all so far. His great-great-grandfather lived right now, might even already be here. And once Ghost finally saw fit to join him, he'd start searching for his way out again.

Daemon watched him closely, following every movement Jon made with his eyes, studying his features. "Do you dye your hair as well?"

He shook his head. "No, I received this from my mother. Most of my coloring and features, truly." 

As far as he could tell, none of what he did affected the future, so he did not fear giving out pieces of information here or there. 

"She must have been lovely."

Jon stared.

Daemon moved close against, bending over Jon's body to refill his goblet of wine. "What is your name?"

"Aemon." Jon watched as Daemon flinched, just a little, and he remembered that one of Daemon's older, dead brothers had shared that name. "And you are?"

The Blackfyre chuckled. "I've been going by John here, but you certainly can call me by my true name, Daemon."

He hadn't really needed the confirmation and now that he had it, Jon didn't really know what to do with it. Continue playing the charade? Reveal himself? Knock Daemon out and go find the boy who would be Aegon V and Ser Duncan? 

Daemon slid his hands over both of Jon's shoulders. "You're so tense. Let me help you calm down." That made Jon tense up even more, but Daemon didn't seem to pay it any mind, still giving him a charming smile and leaning over until their faces were _very close_. "This must be such an auspicious moment in history for you."

Jon bit his lip, glancing over Daemon to confirm he was unarmed. "Don't you mean for you?"

"So you _do_ know what's about to happen! That's good." 

One of Daemon's hands was playing with his hair now and Jon's first thought was, _Oh_, followed by, _I can use this._

"It will mean big things for the realm, for certain," he hedged, looking up at Daemon through his eyelashes. 

"Very," Daemon agreed, Jon close enough he swore he could _hear_ his pulse speeding up. "And you're here for the gods have truly decided I deserve an early celebration."

"Lucky us," he wheezed, knowing Satin would be berating him if he could see it.

But Daemon didn't seem to care how awkward Jon was. Certainly it didn't stop him from kissing him. And Jon, well, he figured the least he could do would be to distract the Blackfyre and give Bloodraven some more time to get into position.


End file.
